


i'll come back to haunt you

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Character Study, M/M, Memories, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the winter soldier only has pieces of his past, and he tries to make sense of them as best he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll come back to haunt you

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: There is some violence, torture, mentions of death, and some sexual things.
> 
> A lot of this is written in lowercase, too, just so you know! :)

 

 

### Case 205694

**SUBJECT:**  
JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

**DOB:**  
03-10-1917

SERGEANT OF THE 107TH INFANTRY

**STATUS:**  
~~KILLED IN ACTION-1945~~    
TRAITOR

JAMES BARNES HAS BEEN SIGHTED WORKING WITH HYDRA. HE IS DANGEROUS AND SHOULD NOT BE ENGAGED ALONE.

* * *

 

 

__bucky?_ _

 

_who the hell is bucky?_

  

 

_He is unresponsive._

_Wipe him._

* * *

 

 he is  _running, running, running,_  arms pumping as he pushes forward, his breath coming in steady puffs. there is no sound save for the gentle  _pad pad pad_  that comes with each step. he is almost silent, moving quickly through the shadows, eyes set for the target as he has been taught -  _trained_.

 "It is with silent hands that death must be dealt and lessons taught. That is your mission, актив. Your legacy.  _Our legacy._ "

his mission objective is on repeat in his otherwise quiet mind. there is nothing else that matters. there can be no distractions, lest he fail. failure is not an option. but he does not fail. he continues onward until he reaches the edge of the small village. he pauses, presses his back up against one of the buildings, and listens.

a woman's cooing lullaby a few houses down. a man choking on too much vodka. a couple arguing, profanities decorating their colorful hatred. rowdy patrons at the pub. laughter. singing. useless.

it is a moment before he steps out from the shadows and begins to make his way down the snowy lane, passing dimly lit windows from which waft scents he doesn't recognize. that is not his concern, though. he approaches the small inn near the pub and slips through the door.

door: secure. windows: secure. front desk: occupied by civilian - no threat. stairway: clear. proceed.

his eyes dart around the room as he walks to the front desk and gives a small smile. "алистратов?" the man behind the desk smiles and nods and reaches beneath the desk - his fingers twitch for his gun - to retrieve a key. he nods in thanks and takes the key, eyeing the number -  _203_  - before he heads for the stairs.

he takes the steps two at a time, and it isn't long before he's standing before 203. he knocks. the door swings open, and he is greeted with a jovial grin and a hand pulling him into the room.

_"I was beginning to wonder if they were really going to send one of their buffoons."_

_"We do not go back on our word."_

_"Good. Because we have a deal."_

_"The documents?"_

_"The money?"_

_"It is a funny thing, keeping one's word. We had said we would kill anyone who got a hold of these. And look, here you are, with them. And here I am, promising to keep my word."_

there is no chance for the man to react as he pulls a knife from its holster and lunges forward, arm flying up to slice across skin. there is a choking sound -  _familiar_  - and blood spurting, and he is moving to catch the man as he collapses.

 

  
__"__ _ _Mission report?"_ _

_"The documents have been retrieved. The target has been eliminated. Evidence has been disposed of. The mission was a success."_

_"Good актив. You will be rewarded for your success."_

 

* * *

_"S_ _uccess!"_  there is golden hair and breathless laughter and a toothy smile and sunshine warm across his cheeks. he is laughing and a hand reaches out to him. he grasps it to pull himself up, and he leans against the younger boy as he catches his breath.

the ball had flown right into mr. thompson's window across the street. he had suggested they wait until he gets home, but the golden-haired boy just shushed him and clambered through the broken window.  _"We won't get it back if he finds out!"_  and he'd had no choice but to follow after him. but mr. thompson had been asleep in an armchair in the living room and they had tripped over one another and knocked over a lamp, and had ran out and away as quickly as possible, laughing the whole way until they fell in a fit of giggles. 

 " _ _He woulda killed us!"__

 "And told our Ma's!"

"And they woulda killed us, too!"

_"I ain't gonna say nothing if you won't."_

but they do not have an excuse as to where their baseball went when they finally return home. neither really care, though, and they just laugh when his ma asks. the golden-haired boy coughs, and the laughter falls silent, a worrisome frown instead tugging at his mouth. _"Just been a lotta-"_  another cough,  _"playin' today. Let me tell ya, Mrs. Bar-"_

* * *

 -N INCIDENT INVOLVING HYDRA'S INSIDE CONTROL OF S.H.I.E.L.D. JAMES BARNES WAS SIGHTED ON ONE OF THREE HIJACKED HELICARRIERS. HIS ATTEMPTS TO ASSASSINATE CAPTAIN AMERICA A.K.A STEVEN ROGERS WERE UNSUCCESSFUL, AND HE FLED THE SCENE BEFORE HE COULD BE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY.

 

* * *

he often flees to dance halls when on leave. he knows there to be something really quite exhilarating about taking a dame out dancing. the swirls of skirts, maybe, as couples lindy hop and charleston and jitterbug about the dance floor. or the swell of the music as the band plays something nice and fast that gets your toe a tappin'. or maybe it's when they slow things down with a nice ballad - something from glen miller, perhaps - and he can be pressed up against his special gal, swaying and humming in her ear.

it's like that here, but more. back home no one knew the fear of war, the energy it brings out in people. but here, in some dingy bar in the middle of france, it's really  _alive_ , and he can feel it in his very being. the crooning of the band echoes through the building as he sips at his drink, guys and gals around him swapping (false) stories of heroics and (sad) stories of loved ones gone off to create their own heroic stories. there is a life to the place, and it sweeps him up as easily as he sweeps a gal out onto the dance floor.

she is close, and he thinks he can forget the war for a night. she asks about his special someone back home as they glide through the crowd, twisting and turning with the music. he mentions his friend. she pushes for more. he says it's his best friend, the most important person to him. she asks wh-

 

_BOOM!_

* * *

  _"What the hell were you thinkin'?!"_

_"What was I s'posed to do? Just stand there and let him hit her?! Like hell!"_

_"He's three Goddamn times bigger than you are, you asshole!"_

_"And bigger than she was, too! I'm not gonna let a nice lady get treated like that!"_

_"You look like hell. Punk."_

_"Thanks. Jerk."_

 

* * *

 he jerks his head away from the needle, tugs at the straps holding his arms down, spits at the lab technician on his other side.  _"Fuck you."_  but doctor zola only smiles. he moves the needle towards his neck once more, and he can't escape its reach this time. he feels the prick as it pushes into his skin, and he feels the cool rush of liquid being injected into his body, and he feels his stomach clench and his chest tighten.  _"Fuck. you.'_

_"The procedure has already begun. Fight as you'd like, but you cannot do anything to stop me."_

_"Fuck you and your Goddamn nazi experiments."_ but he can't move. suddenly there is pain - in his arms, his legs, his fingers, his chest, his toes, his head - everywhere.  _pain no please stop._  he writhes on the table and pulls at his restraints and,  _God, please be merciful, take pity on my soul._  his mouth opens and he cries out and everything goes black. 

_"The experiment was unsuccessful. Prepare the prisoner for another test."_

* * *

_"Prep him."_

he knows even before he is given the mouthguard. fear rises within him like futile rebellion. he tenses, flinches, but no amount of anticipation will lessen the blow. the electricity shoots through his body, and it is accompanied by  _pain_. his muscles contract and tremor, and it's as if his heart might explode.

and it doesn't stop.

images flash through his mind, ones he tries to hold on to, but they're stealing them all away. he is screaming, crying, biting down so hard he might break the mouthguard, all to try to hold on to the images that mean next to nothing. but they slip away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, aw--

* * *

 

__bucky?__  

 

_but i knew him..._

 

* * *

  _"I don't know how. But it's not some big deal or nothin'."_

he considers the smaller boy for a moment, and a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. _"you ain't never kissed no one, have ya?"_  he knows the answer. of course he knows the answer.

_"Well, no. But it's 'cos I don't wanna!"_  there's an indignant huff, and he's laughing and throwing his arm around the other boy, resting their heads together.

_"Wanna learn? Ya gotta know how to kiss. You ain't never gonna get a gal if you don't."_  it's an easy offer to make. the other boy gives him a look before his jaw sets with determination and something else that he can't put his finger on.

_"Yeah. Yeah, I do."_

it's simple, he thinks, yet somehow very complex when he shifts to press their lips together in a soft, chaste kiss. it's because he loves him, truly. he is his best friend, after all, and what better way to show love?

* * *

 this is better. really, it is. he knows it is. but it's...different. the man before him isn't...small. he is big, beautiful, healthy - the man he'd always known was in there. but the one here, the one smiling and flexing his muscles - he is adonis. he is bright and brilliant and shining like the sun.

and he suddenly feels too much like icarus, and he knows that he's going to burn.

_"So?"_

_"So?"_

_"What d'ya think?"_

_"You look...nice."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Yeah. And you don't get sick or nothing?"_

_"Not anymore. It's great, innit?"_

_"Yeah, you're not gonna need me no more."_

_"I'm always gonna need you. Till the end of the line, right?"_

_"Till the end of the line, pal."_  

* * *

 it is not the end of line, but he is getting off. the adonis above him is fading, becoming smaller and smaller. he is falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and

* * *

 he hits the ground, but makes no attempt to stand. his handler hovers over him, knuckles bloodied.  _"This is what you get when you fail."_ his voice is gravelly, and it scares him. he remains on the ground. a kick is dealt to his stomach, regardless. but pain has become nothing to him. he had been trained to withstand it until it reaches critical level. but this is not critical. this is only punishment.

_"Get up!"_  the order is barked, and he complies, pushing himself to his feet.  _"Status."_

_"Stable."_  another slap, and he is knocked off balance, stumbling backwards.

_"Not good enough."_

* * *

 " _He's had enough."_  there is the feeling of cold, but that's all he can register. shaking, cold, and people. there are people around him. he tries to see faces, but his vision blurs with each blink. a man looks down at him, gives a smile, and pats his shoulder.  _"Do you remember your training, актив?"_  he is disoriented, though. he stares up at the man for too long.

_"He needs more time, sir."_  another voice, and he turns his head towards its owner.

_"He's had enough, and we need him. Come, актив."_  he is placed on his feet, and the man that had addressed him turns to leave.

_"But I don't... I don't understand. Where am I?"_ panic begins to bubble in his chest. he doesn't know these people. he doesn't remember anything. he doesn't remember--

_"Steve,"_  he breathes, as naturally as breathing air,  _"Where's Steve?"_

* * *

he doesn't know where the hell he's been all day, but his guess is as good as any of theirs. it isn't a surprise when he shows up and drops his shield well after the rest of them had had a drink or two. it had been a rough day. they'd nearly gotten themselves blown up at the hydra base, and they'd been sure that their fearless leader really had gotten himself killed this time. he thinks that the idiot nearly gets himself killed far too often for his liking.

_"So...Carter?"_  there is raucous laughter from beneath a bowlers hat. they all look at their leader, expecting to hear a good story of where he'd been all day. but the man just shrugs and takes his place beside him.

_"What about her?"_

_"Today was the day you two..."_  there is an obscene gesture followed by groans and an, _"Honestly, mate."_

he gives a wry smile and takes a large swig from his bottle. he wasn't feeling a damn thing yet, and he'd had more than anyone should.

_"Don't talk about Peggy like that."_  he can't help but sneer into the bottle. a hand reaches for it, and he gives it up easily.  _"She's a real swell lady, and deser-"_

* * *

 

-ERVES SWIFT AND JUST PUNISHMENT FOR THE PEACE OF MIND OF THE FAMILIES OF HIS VICTIMS, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO ANTHONY STARK AND THE DESCENDANTS OF JOHN F. KENNEDY. JAMES BARNES IS A MENACE TO SOCIETY, AND MUST BE BROUGHT TO TRIAL.

  

* * *

  _"You are to be the new fist of Hydra!"_

zola hovers as the technicians remove what is left of his arm and replace it with metal. but he does not want this. he would rather be dead at the bottom of the ravine. he rips the wiring from his arm and surges forward, grabbing the first person he can round the throat, fingers glinting as they curl and squeeze, and suddenly the man at the end of his arm stops fighting. but he does not see that. he only sees metal - shiny metal - that blinds him when he moves. he grabs someone else, too easily squeezing the life from them. but that's not what he wants.

he wants zola.

zola is one step ahead of him, though, and has a needle in the back of his neck before he can turn around. he grows heavy, his new arm suddenly too much to hold, and they push him back to the chair. he tries to fight, tries to struggle, but he cannot keep his eyelids open.

when he can see again, it is cold -  _so cold_  - and it stops his heart.

* * *

  _"The kid's got heart, I'll give him that. Too bad for him,"_  he can hear them saying. they are far away in his head, but they are there beside him, keeping him restrained as they travel to their destination. he has a mission: eliminate the target. he has been warned that failure will not be tolerated. but he doesn't fail.

he remains still until the vehicle has stopped, and only then he moves when he hears the order. he crawls out of the car and stands before his handlers.  _"It gives me the fucking creeps,"_  one of them says. his holsters have already been equipped, and he is handed a larger firearm that will get the job done.

_"Mission objective: eliminate target. Activate stealth mode. Do not act without further instruction. Go."_

immediately, he turns and heads towards the building where his target is to be found. he has a small team close behind in case of malfunctions, but they all know that he can handle the mission on his own.

when he reaches the building, he radios his handler.  _"Status."_

_"Area clear. No hostiles detected."_

_"Proceed."_

so he does, pulling himself up onto the fire escape and climbing to the sixth floor. he glances into the window and quickly scans for signs of occupation: negative.  _"Clear."_  it is easy to pry open the window and slip inside undetected, and he surveys his surroundings as he inches forward, weapon at the ready.

but it happens quickly. noise to right. hostile. target. gunshot, fire back. pain. critical? no. medical attention not required. target status: deceased.

  _"Asset. Mission status."_

_"Success."_

_"Report."_

_"Hostile fire. Hit taken. Target eliminated. No malfunction reported."_

_"Wipe him, then freeze him."_

* * *

  _"Ya big lug. You're not keeping me warm like you oughta be."_

his nudge with met with a more aggressive one and a shit-eating grin.  _"Nah, it's your job, remember?"_

_"I'm not good at that, anymore, boob."_

_"Mook."_

_"Punk."_

_"Jerk."_

there's a soft smile shared between them, and then he's shifting and sliding closer and resting his head against the man's shoulder.  _"God, forgive me for saying this, but I missed you like hell."_

_"You have no idea."_  a head is atop his, and he sighs, feeling almost relaxed for the first time since he can't remember when. it almost feels like home. it almost feels like they're back in brooklyn in their apartment and it's just another new york winter's night.

it doesn't stay like that long, though, because he's lifting his head and looking at the other man, and he doesn't know how it happens or why it happens or anything, really, but then their lips are pressed together. it's desperate and needy and full of want and fear and anger and God knows what else. he sure doesn't. but that doesn't matter. his hands are in the other man's hair, around his waist, keeping him close as he bites at his neck and sucks on his collarbone and devours him in another kiss. he's being greedy -  _so greedy_  - but neither seem to mind. he is on top of the man, and he's on top of him, and their hands are everywhere and anywhere. and there is skin and panting and whispered words meant only for the dead of night, only for each other. promises are made and secrets shared and neither remembers the world outside of the tent.

neither really wants to.

* * *

 there are flashes, and then he wants to leave. flashes of things he thinks he knows or has seen in some lifetime, something more than headquarters and his tank. and it is when he is in the states that he leaves. he is drawn away by something, or someone. it is easy to lose his handlers, and once he get away he's unstoppable. he takes buses and trains and finds himself traveling to brooklyn, new york.

there's something about the streets, maybe. or maybe it's the people and how different they are from the people that he knows. but something about the city makes him feel...he doesn't really have a word for it. instead, he has flashes. like maybe he's been  _there_ , or maybe he's seen a kid getting beaten up  _there_  - a kid with golden hair? he doesn't know. it makes his head hurt. but he doesn't want to leave.

as it turns out, his handlers are more adept than he gave them credit for. they find him. they find him, and take him, and he screams and fights and tries to run until they sedate him. he will be punished greatly, he knows, but it was worth it to feel...home.

* * *

 

_"You really do like it, don't you?"_  

_"What?"_

_"Getting your butt kicked."_

_"He deserved it. And I had him on the ropes."_

_"Just like every other guy, huh?"_

_"Yeah. I can take 'em."_

_"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up, ya idiot."_

_"Aw, you love me."_

_"Yeah. Yeah, I do, pal."_

 

* * *

 he knows the face staring back at him. he  _knows_  it. it's...different, but it's still one that he's seen before. his eyes read through the information beside the picture, trying to process it, but he's...

 

_bucky?_

 

he doesn't understand. it doesn't make any sense. it's his face, yes, but... 

 

_your name is james buchanan barnes_

 

 

it doesn't make sense. but it's him. it's his face. he is not bucky, but that's him. it's him, and his life was taken from him. by hydra.

  

 

_cause i'm with you till the end of the line_

 

 

hydra is going to pay for what they've done.

 

* * *

 

-HIBIT AT THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION: "BEST FRIENDS SINCE CHILDHOOD, BUCKY BARNES AND STEVEN ROGERS WERE INSEPARABLE ON BOTH SCHOOLYARD AND BATTLEFIELD. BARNES IS THE ONLY HOWLING COMMANDO TO GIVE HIS LIFE IN SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! It's a different format than I usually do things, but I like it! Title taken from the song 'Haunt' by Bastille.
> 
> Comments/Feedback always welcome, of course! :D


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